


Ambition's Gale

by cold_flames



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: But only if you squint, Claude von Riegan is a Little Shit, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd-centric, Gen, Implied sylvix, Khalid von Riegan, Male My Unit | Byleth, Maybe - Freeform, byleth lowkey ships them together ngl, can be read as dimiclaude, post azure moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24945682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_flames/pseuds/cold_flames
Summary: With Enbarr finally conquered, restoration efforts have begun to allow Fodlán to recover from the strain of war. Fast forward three years later, the ambitions of a former classmate surfaces when Fodlán has been restored to its former glory. No longer shall the borders of the newly united Fodlán kept shut from their neighbours. As negotiations begin, a familiar pair of emerald eyes greets them when the King of Almyra arrives.Post-Azure Moon.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Claude von Riegan, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & My Unit | Byleth, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	Ambition's Gale

**Author's Note:**

> honestly just 80% dimitri thinking about claude/ overthinking and 20% claude being dramatic >:) also 100% me just trying to avoid all my school responsibilities yikes

The harsh red glow of Areadhbar sliced through the defeated Emperor’s armour with little effort - almost lazily - as the sliver dagger simultaneously sunk into the black chest plate of the newly crowned King, though not deep enough to cause major injury it was not shallow enough to classify as a mere cut. The adrenaline that pulsed through Dimitri had faded away, and the pain of wounds he had sustained from Edelgard’s final stand were starting sting. He tightened his grip on the dagger as he pulled it out in one swift motion together with Areadhbar. The silence that had blanketed the colossal throne room was finally broken by a singular shout.

“Long live the King! Long live King Dimitri!”

Began to circulate throughout his troops, as the maniacal whoops of laughter and joyful cries fills the throne room, the echoes growing louder. The war was over, Fodlán was more than ready for a new ear of peace. He heard Sylvain cheer as he swoops a very disgruntled Felix off the floor and Ingrid laughing exasperatedly at their antics. Perhaps with time, things would go back to normal again.

“It’s time,” Byleth reminded him, and he detected a hint of pride his former professor’s voice as he strides to the balcony that overlooked the city of Enbarr, Byleth following him. The citizens of Enbarr, who still were not vacated, were slowly beginning to form a crowd, stepping over the ruins of what was once their home, marred by battle and black magic. Hubert had done most of the damage, doing what he could in his final moments to stop as many of their troops, hurling spell after spell until he was felled with the combined strength of Dorothea and Ferdinand.

Looking at the crowd below, Dimitri sees a myriad of expressions, from pure hatred to confusion. “Citizens of Enbarr!” He calls out, voice carrying strong and clear. “The Emperor is dead! No more war will be waged, and restoration efforts will be spread throughout Fodlán. I will not ask for forgiveness. All I ask for is your cooperation so that future generations to come will know of peace. I swear by the lance of my forefathers - Fodlán will recognise peace under my rule.”

Little cheers came from the crowd, and even those that had shown agreement were hushed by glares from their neighbours, unlike the one back in Fhirdiad, where the people chanted his name fervently like a mantra.

Unfortunately, restoration efforts were unable to start immediately. The letter written to them by Hubert had turned their attention to what he coined ‘Those Who Slither In The Dark’, the Agarthans. They immediately set for Goneril territory, and were joined by some of the former students of the Golden Deer, including Hilda herself, who greeted them at the border with Freikugel resting on her shoulder, her eyes hardened.

Though both sides suffered heavy losses, such as the death of Rhea, who to Seteth’s chagrin, insisted on accompanying them, they emerged victorious. Thales had been slain and every one of the Agarthans’s devices were destroyed and burnt to ashes. The journey back to Fhirdiad was solemn; having returned with half the army they’d began the battle with. Their friends dispersed back to their own territories and some back to Garreg Mach, marking the beginning of the restoration effort.

Three years later, Fodlán looked as if it’d had never seen war; buildings was restored along with towns and villages, memorials were built to honour the dead and the Officer’s Academy was open to everyone, to commoner and noble alike who could pass the entrance test.

And maybe - _finally_ , Dimitri thought as he recalled a statement from a former classmate, his words ringing clearly in his head - the time was ripe for Fodlán to open their borders to the outside world.

 _“I’m leaving Fodlán. There are things I have to do._ Dreams I need to see fruition _.”_

But the moment his suggestion left his lips during one of the many conferences with his council, the response he received was not what he expected. They exchanged appalled looks with each other, and whispers begin to fly amongst them, with the exceptions of Ferdinand, Lorenz and those who had attended the Officer’s Academy with him. He feels Dedue twitch ever so slightly by his side when one of them throws insults at Duscar. To his left, Felix barely tried concealing his disgust.

“Enough.” Byleth’s steady voice calls out from the other end of the table, resolute. His tone was dangerously soft and it was clear that they were to hear Dimitri out. “We are here to discuss the future of this land, are we not? Let us proceed as such, as advisors to their King, rather than a bunch of babbling schoolgirls.”

Any other objection was stamped out, and, though reluctantly, they focused their attention on Dimitri. “Fodlán has had time to recover form this war. I believe the time is ripe for us to focus on our neighbours. Duscar, Dagda, Brigid…it is time to extend the hand of friendship to them.”

“Your Majesty!” One of the generals present sputtered, refusing to believe what his liege had just suggested. “Those Duscar miscreants was the very reason why King Lambert passed! The late Majesty was doing the very same as you - making friends with those filthy traitors! And those from Sreng…had we not had Margrave Gautier protecting our borders from them, they surely would’ve invaded our lands by now, the barbarians they are!” 

Felix seethed and opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Sylvain. “Were you aware that the late king also conquered half of the Sreng peninsula during his reign?” He begins, voice colder than steel. “Perhaps it would’ve occured to you that they were attempting to reclaim their home, general?”

The general sinks back into his seat, red-faced with fury.

“Fodlán cannot afford to continue shunning our our neighbours. In times of crisis, we will require their help. Should Fodlán see war again, and without an alliance with Duscar and Sreng, our forces have to be divided in order to secure Fhirdiad and keep up our front lines. With an established relationship, we can ask and offer assistance.”

Dimitri takes the newly-found silence as agreement and forged ahead. “We cannot say all of Duscar are traitors when they never even took place in the Tragedy of Duscar. We will establish proper trade routes in and out of Fodlán. We will open our borders to the outside world. And we will begin this by inviting the monarchs of these lands to a negotiation in Garreg Mach. Duke Aegir, Duke Goneril and Margrave Gautier, would you kindly act as ambassadors for Fodlán? I shall begin arrangements for negotiations to be held at Garreg Mach.”

As his council slowly fanned out of the room, Byleth shot him a knowing glance, corners of his mouth curled slightly. Only Byleth had been there that fateful day, when a fellow lord had bestowed Failnaught upon them, and the relic was hung up in his office, beside Aymr and Areadhbar.

“This is for Claude, is it not?” Byleth asked when everyone else had finally left.

Dimitri nodded. “I will honour his ambitions, as will I honour Edelgard’s. Both of them fought for valiant reasons. The least I could do was to uphold the ambitions they could never see fulfilled.”

A couple moons later, Dimitri, sets out for Garreg Mach. The negotiations were scheduled to happen in a fortnight’s time, but he was getting restless pacing about in Fhirdiad. He and Felix rode hard and fast to the monastery, with him insisting on only Felix to accompany him. He had sent Dedue back to Duscar with Sylvain, after assuring a reluctant Dedue with the fact that the church soldiers and Byleth himself would be there to escort him to the monastery, and that Felix and himself was more than capable of protecting themselves on the way there.

His white stallion galloped quickly over the terrain of Faerghus, and Dimitri relished in the cold, bitter wind as he and Felix cantered through the hazardous mountains and stormy blizzards on the way to Garreg Mach. Slowing down as Byleth and his own guards came into view, Dimitri greets his former professor with windswept hair and red cheeks.

The newly rebuilt monastery is a whole piece of art on its own, Dimitri thought to himself as the magnificent view of Garreg Mach entered their vision. The cathedral had been rebuilt for those who did choose to remain faithful, while massive murals had been commissioned to detail the true story of the Nabateans. No longer were the people required to follow the teachings of Seiros or Sothis. In the Officer’s Academy, the three houses still remained, the Blue Lions, Golden Deer and Black Eagles.

The days leading up to the negotiations pass by in flash, and Dimitri found himself strolling around the fishing pond which Byleth had very passionately argued for to stay, and for it to simply be restored to the former state. The water’s surface sparkled with every step he took, and he found his attention drawn to the iridescent pond.

What if it didn’t work? What if the other monarchs don’t agree? What if the people of Fodlán disagreed with his actions, like the general a couple of weeks ago?

 _“You wanted to ‘fulfil’ my ambition, Your Majesty?”_ A voice mocks in his head, and a figure clad in the varying shades of Alliance yellow appears before him as viridian, cold hard eyes meet his single sapphire one.

Waves of fear washed through him and Dimitri felt himself _freeze_.

No. No, no, no. They were gone. All of them. Dimitri thought furiously. Byleth had saved him from the voices of the dead. Byleth had pulled him out of the empty chasm he thought he would be stuck in for eternity.

‘Claude’ threw his head back in laughter. _“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Your Kingliness. Do you really think yourself capable?”_

“Dimitri. It is almost time for the negotiations.”

A low voice brought him back to reality, and he is surprised, pleased but surprised, to hear _Dedue_ call his name.

“Dedue! Forgive me, I was simply lost in thought,” he found himself replying, eye skittering over to where ‘Claude’ had stood. “You have my gratitude. I trust your trip to Duscar went well?” He asked, in an attempt to strike up a conversation.

His retainer nodded. They strolled back to the Cardinal’s Room, where the negotiations would be held, engaged in small talk as simply friends, rather than liege and retainer. Dedue described his homeland with much passion, and they conversed about the most trivial subjects, from flower hybrids to the old celestial beings of Duscar.

Upon stepping into the room, Dimitri found it mostly empty with the exception of his former professor, poring over his sheaf of notes.

Nodding a greeting to them, Dimitri slipped into the seat beside the archbishop whilst Dedue took his place behind him as always, presence steady and calm. Before the monarchs or representatives of the different lands arrived, Sylvain, Ferdinand, and all the others who acted as ambassadors file in one by one to take their seats.

Finally, when the representatives of the different lands arrived, the page boy who stood at the front door began announcing their names and titles.

“Queen Petra of Brigid!”

The former princess strode in, her long purple hair swaying behind her. She greeted them with a smile as she took her own seat, and Dimitri was glad that there would be at least one familiar face at the table. Petra had defected to Byleth and rejoined their army during the battle of Fort Merceus, as well as a battalion’s worth of fresh warriors, which had proven a valuable asset for the march from Derdriu had tired out most of their knights.

One by one, the respective monarchs and representatives are all announced as they enter, and the seats were gradually filled, save for one final, empty one that was directly opposite Dimitri. Murmurs flew across the table, and even with the language barrier, the air was thick with tension.

The wooden doors swung open one last time, and Dimitri faltered when the last man marched up to the table. 

“King Khalid of Almyra!”

The man was clad in golden and black armour, a cape draped along his shoulder. He flashed an easy smile at all those who are present, but Dimitri isn’t fooled by the cold, calculating _emerald_ eyes that flickered around.

“Forgive my tardiness,” he began, in smooth Fodlànese, giving a small bow before taking his seat. “Shall we begin?”

As the long-awaited negotiations finally begin, Dimitri cannot help but find himself returning to stare at the King of Almyra.

The hours passed like minutes. They discussed trade routes, education, and many more. Treaties were signed and when the sky began to turn into a deep crimson, the monarchs piled out of the room, and it didn’t take a genius to tell that they were satisfied with the prospect of opening up to Fodlàn - after many arduous hours of negotiations. As Dimitri saw the golden cape of Almyra’s king disappear behind the door, he made as dignified of a beeline as possible for it after dismissing Dedue’s offer accompany him under the pretence of needing to stretch his legs.

Exiting the building, he stopped a nearby student to point him in the direction of the Almyra king. His boots kicked up the sand on the way to the wyvern stables, and he sees the king tossing his wyvern a bass from the pond.

“Claude?” He called out tentatively, approaching carefully.

“Long time no see, Your Kingliness,” Claude - no, _Khalid_ \- grinned as he spun around gracefully. “Surprised?”

“I- Definitely!” Dimitri sputtered. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Or me, for that matter?”

“I wanted to avoid suspicion. There are people out there in Almyra that wanted me dead. Being the son of a Fodlánese women, regardless of her status in Fodlán landed me pretty high on the list of ‘to be assassinated’. When my parents allowed me to come to Fodlán and claim title of the Riegan heir through my mother’s side, I decided to go by a new name to hide my identity, and also partly because Grandfather wanted me to.”

“But you became king in the end?”

“Yeah. I challenged my father - it’s tradition, you can stop looking at me like I’m crazy - for the throne and won. I never really got to thank you, by the way,” Khalid mused.

“For what?’ Dimitri replied, bewildered. “For attempting to open Fodlán borders? I made a vow to myself that I would fulfil yours and Edelgard’s ambitions.”

“Of course you would. Well, I look forward to working together again. Maybe this time, I’ll finally see my dreams fruition. Until next time, Dimitri,” Khalid smiled, a genuine warm smile, where his eyes crinkled at the side, all previous icy looks melted. Swinging himself onto the back of his ivory wyvern, he waved to Dimitri as he took off into sky, the powerful gales left behind by the wyvern messing his hair as the honey-gold rays of the setting sun reflected off Khalid’s armour.

As Dimitri and his men take off for Faerghus soon after, he relished the final embers of the setting sun despite the blizzard-like winds, and vowed once more to do his best to honour a fellow king’s ambition.


End file.
